


Fishy Business

by Amuly



Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Aggression, Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - House of M, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Coming of Age, Doggy Style, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Prostate Milking, Scratching, Secret Wars (2015), Violent Sex, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Namor and Pietro Maximoff's affair has spanned decades, but the nature of their relationship has changed as Pietro himself has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fishy Business

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent warning is because an adult Namor first meets Pietro when he's 15, and basically says "come back when you're of-age and we'll bone," so. Do with that knowledge what you will!

Fifteen

Pietro first met the king when he was fifteen years old. Pietro was angry, and haughty, and ready to fight anyone and anything that got in his way. He was normally so contrarian to authority, and was prepared to hate this old King. But then the doors to the throne room swung open before his father and sisters, Pietro's automatic disrespect transformed into something else. He didn't gasp out loud, managing to maintain the composure fitting a prince, but internally he was awed. The undersea Atlantean throne room was a wonder to behold, yes. But even more wondrous was the young, athletic king sprawled on his giant clam shell throne. Pietro's steps faltered as he looked upon King Namor. He had thought he would be old.

"Bringing the princelings along for this visit I see, Magnus."

King Namor rose from his throne, miles of exposed skin rolling with taut muscles just beneath the surface. Pietro swallowed and hope it wasn't audible to anyone but himself.

"I thought you might like to get to know the royal princesses, as you will one day have to deal with them rather than me."

King Namor nodded and Lorna and Wanda in turn, greeting them with a minimally respectful inclination of his head and kiss to the back of their hand. When he reached Pietro, however, he stopped and smiled. Anger flared inside Pietro as he forced his back straight and chin high. He wished he was older. He wished his skin was clearer and frame wasn't all lean meat and bones. He wished he looked more like a king and less like the weakest of the royal children, not even befitting a mention from his father. Pietro clenched his jaw and bowed to King Namor.

"What's this, Magnus? Trying to hide the princeling from me?"

Pietro's face burned hot and he cursed his twin for stealing all the pigment from him in the womb. "Pietro Maximoff," Pietro announced himself, words clipped. "Second Prince of King Magnus."

King Namor chuckled like warm syrup. Pietro stiffened, surely insulted. But then King Namor drew closer, crowding Pietro's personal space. Pietro wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, or perhaps race from the throne room altogether. But he kept his head high and his breathing (relatively) steady. He would not be cowed by any man, King or not.

"You're a young one, aren't you? You look stretched thin: unformed, yet. But I have a hard time telling with you surfacedwellers."

Pietro fumed, but it was more anger at himself than King Namor. He was right, after all: Pietro was young and ill-formed.

"Pietro and Wanda are fifteen. Not of age yet for us, but nearing it," Father cut in. Pietro scowled at him. "Now, King Namor..."

King Namor waved a vague hand at Father, nodding vaguely. "Yes, yes. Diplomacy or some such thing." But King Namor spent another moment lookingat Pietro, smiling vaguely. Just when Pietro was sure he couldn't tolerate another second of such focused attention, King Namor leaned in and whispered in his ear: "Be sure to come back in a few years, little princeling. When you are older and more fully... developed."

Then King Namor left Pietro, gasping and dizzy in the wake of the beautiful, eternally-youthful King. His sisters crowded him, determined to suss out what private message the King had imparted him with, but Pietro just shook his head and kept his mouth tightly shut. And stared at that clam shell throne, mind flush with the sorts of images a fifteen year old boy might conjure up.

Twenty

Pietro was twenty and daring, twenty and an adult, twenty and a prince with little responsibilities compared to his more powerful sisters and heirs to the throne of King Magnus. Pietro was twenty and grown into his skin, twenty and attractive, twenty and had plenty of mutants and humans alike throwing themselves at his feet, begging for his bed.

Pietro stalked into the throne room behind his father and sisters, head held eye, feeling the strength of his own muscles flexing as he walked, the power in his genes trembling with every step, glance, breath. King Namor was seated there on his throne, shirtless and beautiful as the day Pietro had first met him five years ago. Pietro held his head higher.

"My favorite royal family," King Namor announced with a sharp-toothed grin. Pietro let the corner of his mouth curl up in amusement at the secret he and Namor shared. The secret Pietro was here to collect on, so many years later.

King Namor strode passed Pietro's father and sisters with hardly a courteous glance. Pietro held his breath as his heart hammered in his chest, feeling like it was running as fast as his feet could. "Princeling. You look fuller, now. An adult in your world?"

Pietro fought the urge to puff out his chest. "Yes, King Namor. For several years now."

Pietro caught his twin rolling her eyes at him, while Lorna just frowned in vague confusion. He didn't look at his father.

King Namor's teeth were sharp when he grinned at Pietro. His eyes dipped low, down at the inches separating them. He hummed. "Fascinating. King Magnus, have my servants shown you your Royal quarters yet?"

Father coughed, ineffectively hiding his impatience. "No, but-"

"Let them show you them. Surely you would want to be refreshed before we sit down to discuss... _affairs_ of the state." King Namor winked at Pietro, not having moved back an inch as he spoke to Father. Pietro shivered. "Freshen up, my young princeling," King Namor told him, voice low, purring. Then he stepped away, long legs striding away from the Magnus household.

Father actually looked at Pietro, for once, his gaze considering. Pietro schooled his features into something resembling cool indifference. He hoped it worked.

"The Atlantean King likes you," Father observed, tone one of bafflement.

"That's one way to put it..." Wanda murmured. Pietro glared at her.

But Father was either oblivious or wholly unconcerned, because he merely shrugged and dropped the issue. "Come along, then. Pietro, you'll have to sit next to me at dinner." He held his hand up when Lorna began to protest. "If King Namor likes him so much, then we should use this advantage. It is only for this realm."

As Pietro fell in line behind his father, Wanda drew level with him and poked him in his ribs. Pietro jumped and scowled at her. "How much of you do you think Father is willing to let King Namor _use_?" she wondered.

Pietro stared straight ahead, knowing his twin could read his every microexpression, that she probably knew how he felt better than he himself did. "I'm going to get some rest before dinner. I suggest you do the same." He glanced significantly over at her. "Your hair is looking a little... wild. Perhaps it's all the damp.

Wanda scowled and poked him again, this time with some magic in her finger. Pietro winced and grabbed at his side. "Just be safe, little brother. You don't know what it is to play with forces beyond your control."

"How could I not, with you as my sister?"

**

The room King Namor gave Pietro was opulent, of course. But Pietro found he couldn't focus on the beauty of his surroundings. Instead, he dashed into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, brushing any flyaway hairs back into place. He fiddled with his jacket, his shirt, wondering if he should undress a little or remain fully clothed. King Namor might not visit him now, of course. If he visited at all. Pietro patted at his cheeks, chastising himself. He was no fifteen year old virgin, now. He'd had all sorts of men since that day when he had trembled beneath King Namor's whispered promise.

But then of course, King Namor was no mere man. Pietro licked his lips and stared into his own reflection's eyes. He slowed his breathing.

As Pietro emerged from the bathroom, another door in his room opened--one he had thought led to a closet or some such thing. That assumption was clearly proved wrong as King Namor himself strode through, glittering, opulent room visible behind him for just a moment before the door swung shut behind him.

Pietro inclined his head respectfully, though he wondered if such deference was appropriate here. Hot on the heels of this thought was the musing that King Namor might expect such deference in all situations, no matter how... informal. Rather than angering Pietro, the notion stirred up a particular want that he had he felt before. Pietro shivered as the king drew closer.

The King stopped mere inches from him, bare torso glistening in the cavern-like light of the bedroom. He smiled, eyes raking up and down Pietro's much more fully-clothed body. "You have grown into a beautiful man," King Namor observed. He reached out and ran his hand from Pietro's shoulder down his arm. His fingers slipped between the buttons of Pietro's coat, squirming through the now interminable layers. He stroked at Pietro's stomach, hand moving down assuredly, grip tightening on Pietro's waistband. Pietro jerked, then bit his lips in an attempt to regain control of himself.

"Why don't you removed all these troublesome surface dweller clothes." It was phrased as a suggestion, but Pietro jumped at the task like it was an order. Coming from King Namor, he knew it was. Faster than any human, Pietro stripped his clothes from his body, tossing them messily on the ground. His erection was already hard and leaking, jutting out proudly from his groin. A shot of nerves went through Pietro, wondering if he was pleasing, wondering if there was still some of that lean, unformed look to himself that King Namor had dismissed all those years ago. But he held his head high and waited for King Namor's verdict.

To his surprise, Namor smiled at him. It was still that toothy, vicious smile of the Atlanteans, but there was some quality of kindness behind it. Or, at least, of approval. Pietro lifted his chin proudly.

Namor took a step closer, black eyes glistening in the dim light of the guest room. His hands ran over Pietro’s stomach, stroked at his flanks. Pietro held himself still, though his penis grew more turgid with every touch.

“You have grown into quite the beautiful man, my princeling.”

"King Namor..." Pietro trembled.

King Namor pressed his thumb to Pietro's bottom lip, stroking it contemplatively. He hushed Pietro. "As much as I love the sound of my title wrapped around your pretty little tongue, I imagine it is much to ask as I bed you. 'Namor' will do fine, for our evening together."

Pietro nodded, eyelashes fluttering as Namor swept his hand over his forehead, long, thing fingers combing through his hair. Pietro leaned into his touch, pressed his chest to Namor's. "Of course. Namor."

Namor hummed his pleasure. "Still sounds so pretty on your lips, title or no." He nodded over Pietro’s shoulder. “Get on the bed.”

Pietro scrambled to comply, ignoring the sound of his father’s rage in his mind, the laughter of his sisters, the dismissal of Logan and Shaw and all those others who thought of him as nothing more than the needy little prince. Namor saw something in him. Namor saw his potential. Namor had seen it years ago, and waited. It was a patience Pietro had never been granted before, not from anyone and certainly not from his father.

“Your skin is so fair. Like the monsters in the deep.” Namor’s footsteps were soft as he followed Pietro to the bed. Pietro waited, breathless. As his footsteps stilled, Pietro tensed, eager and aching. “And I imagine there is something lurking in your depths, Pietro. Depths I am eager to _plumb_.”

Namor’s touch to Pietro’s flank was an electric shock. Pietro's head hung low between shoulders, erection bobbing between his legs as his muscles tensed and relaxed in turn.

"Yes, please, Ki- Namor."

Namor's left hand continued to stroke his flank: soothing, calming passes, like Pietro was a skittish colt. Pietro breathed, steadied his lowly vibrating atoms, tried to find himself some stillness as he waited on Namor's attention. After a moment, Namor's right hand rose to touch him, stroking at the underside of his balls, then up, delving into his cleft. His fingers were slick with some sort of oil and they smeared it over Pietro's hole, which gaped and clenched eagerly, begging for Namor to "plumb" it.

"So sweet. So eager." Namor's voice was almost hypnotic: low, warm tones, rolling over Pietro like a deep, dark wave. By the time his fingers breached Pietro his body was completely relaxed, open to Namor, just waiting to be filled.

As Namor massaged Pietro's inner walls, Pietro found some of his restless energy coming back. He arched against Namor, he moaned, he begged with every inch of his body for Namor to enter him fully, to seat himself inside. "Namor, please."

"Shhh, my princeling." His free hand rubbed up and down Pietro's thigh, while his other hand continued to pump steadily at him. "What do you need?"

"You, Namor. You, inside me."

“Oh no, my princeling. This evening of our first partnership, let me take care of you. Your pleasure is my main dish, my sustenance. Do not concern yourself with my pleasure. I want to see you come apart with joy--something I sense is wrongfully foreign to one as beautiful as yourself.”

Tears stung Pietro’s eyes as Namor’s long fingers milked him, stimulating his prostate consistently, relentlessly. His hands tore at the sheets, mouth gaping in wordless cries of pleasure. Namor held him in place with one hand, the other driving him mad with steady, constant pleasure.

“How- ow- ah- _ah_!”

Namor’s kisses were sweet on Pietro’s shoulders, his hand warm on Pietro's side, his fingers long and thick inside Pietro's body. Pietro came untouched, stripes of white come staining the silky sheets of Namor's palace.

Pietro had expected it to end, there. Or perhaps for Namor to finally take his pleasure. But Namor just kept pumping his fingers inside of Pietro, gently fucking his prostate as if he could do this for eternity. Pietro bucked and squeezed his eyes shut. He probably could.

"Namor..." Pietro begged. His erection had never grown entirely flaccid. His body trembled.

Namor hushed him again, fingers still pumping. "Oh, my beautiful young prince. That was not the end of your evening. Not by far.

An interminable amount of time later, Pietro came again, sobs filling the room. Namor shushed him through it, fingers still pumping inside of him. "You have more for me, my sweet prince. I know you do."

Hours later, Pietro lay in Namor's arms, still trembling softly. Namor's erection was hard against Pietro's side, but Namor made no move towards it nor mention of it. Instead he simply sat with Pietro, stroking his hair gently as the minutes ticked by. It was possibly the longest amount of time Pietro had ever spent so still.

Namor's head bent low as he pressed soft kisses to Pietro's hair. "You'll come to me again, my princeling? Often."

"I'll talk to my father," Pietro promised. "Convince him that I should be the ambassador to Atlantis. He... He would be glad to foist the job on someone else. And be glad to be rid of me some of the time."

"A mutually beneficial partnership," Namor murmured against Pietro's hair.

Twenty-Five

Pietro’s elbows were starting to get rug burn. Or blanket burn, whatever. He sighed and shifted as best he could even as his body shook with powerful thrusts. He managed to get his forearms under himself, giving his rubbed-raw elbows a break. The wall shook in front of him, vision jarring. He tried tracing a pattern on there.

“You are my perfect princeling,” Namor gritted out, fingernails running sharp and painful down Pietro’s back. Pietro hissed and rolled his shoulders. He was not in the mood, today. Not in the mood for the condescending pet names or Namor’s wet, slimy dick. Pietro’s mind was afield, wondering if Wanda was doing well on the surface, on bedrest now in her third trimester with the twins. Wondering if Father had stopped fawning over Lorna long enough to find some humans to persecute. Wondered if he was keeping Shaw's dogs busy, or if they were restless, on the prowl.

A sharp jerk at his scalp brought Pietro back to the present. "Say my name," Namor hissed at him.

Pietro sighed and rolled his shoulders. In a fairly convincing display of passion, Pietro shouted: "King Namor! You feel so good inside of me, my king. Please, please, harder!"

Namor leaned down and bit Pietro's shoulder, a sharp, stinging reprimand. Pietro hissed and flinched away. "You are a defiant little brat, princeling," Namor hissed. But Pietro could feel Namor's sharp teeth smiling on top of the bite.

Pietro fucked his hips sharply back against Namor, vibrating himself against Namor's groin. Namor's thrusts hitched, skipped a beat, but only for a moment. "And you're a narcissistic windbag," Pietro shot back from between gritted teeth. He shook his head, a faint blur, sweat flicking from his hairline and face. "And not putting nearly the effort into this that I need."

Namor's grip tightened uncomfortably around Pietro's waist: a reminder of the raw strength the Atlantean King possessed. Pietro's dick jerked between his legs. "Oh, is his royal asshole bored?"

Propping himself back up on his hands, Pietro fucked himself harder and faster against Namor, pushing the Atlantean to his limits. He might be strong, but no one could move as fast as Pietro. "More like _the_  royal asshole is bored. Perhaps if you stopped posturing and _started... fucking... me..._ " Pietro punctuated the last three words with a series of impossibly fast thrusts, asshole heating with the increased friction between them. Pietro hissed, dick leaking onto the sheets beneath them. He might be able to come before Namor. For once.

"You insolent child," Namor growled. His hand suddenly reached down beneath Pietro, taking his dick in his too-tight grip. Pietro grunted, fisting the sheets tight as Namor stroked his dick raw. "You prize your own release so badly? Then I will grant you your wish, my irascible little prince."

“I am not _irascible_ ,” Pietro hissed, tone entirely negating his protest. Then Namor jerked his wrist hard, and Pietro's mouth fell open as Namor stroked him, too hard, too tight. But even still, or maybe exactly because of that, his arousal crested inside of him. He came with a shout, spilling onto the the sheets as Namor drew his hand disdainfully away. Pietro groaned and reached down to stroke himself through it, dick aching and cold without Namor's vice-like grip.

Namor's hands returned to Pietro's sides, holding his ass high as he pounded relentlessly into it. Pietro sighed and rested his head against the sheets, waiting him out. A minute, two, and _finally_ he felt Namor's fingernails digging into his hips, his thrusts reaching a crescendo.

" _IMPERIUS REEEEEXXXX_!" Namor shouted, releasing himself deep inside. Pietro winced at the volume of Namor's voice. Then winced even more at the smell of Namor's distinctly fishy ejaculate. He was never going to get used to that.

Namor pulled out of Pietro and tossed him aside, even going so far as to kick Pietro from his side of the bed. Pietro grunted and moved, curling up on what had become his pillow. As they lay there in silence, Pietro counted Namor's breaths, waiting for them to even out so he could leave.

As Namor's breathing grew slower and steadier, Pietro muttered to himself: "You know, it would be more effective if you didn't shout it."

A smirk crossed Namor's relaxed visage. "You know nothing, princeling."

Pietro grumbled and crossed his arms, eyes tracing lines in the ceiling.


End file.
